The Dawn of Rebellion
by Naima Wolf
Summary: COMPLETE. Super Demon wants Sam… like he always did. And he will get him he has his means… but Dean is the cost to Sam’s power raise. How far will Dean be tested till Sam is triggered to fight back?
1. OneShot Part 1

**With the Devil I Ride**

**By:** Scarlet Wings Angel

**Disclaimer:** No, of course I don't own the Winchester brothers… although their Dad is… hmm!!

**Summary:** Super Demon wants Sam… like he _always_ did. And he _will_ get him; he has his _means_… but Dean is the cost to Sam's power raise. How far will Dean be tested till Sam is triggered to fight back?

**A/N:** _Hey people just wanna say long time no see. Enjoy reading it and beware of the language (which ain't that heavy!). I just had to get this story out of my head...exams are haunting me! Please make sure you reply with lots and lots of reviews... and i promice the second Chapter doesn't disappoint!!! T...T_

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"NO! Auugh! Damn you, stupid, predictable Sylvester Stalone…," yelled Big Winchester, at a relatively unresponsive piece of modern technology… the Television. "Everybody knows the enemy is either behind you or above you… useless big-lipped moron," he laughed out heartily, so much so that he began to wonder why his sides haven't started bursting.

Sam was standing at the doorway of their living room, staring at his brother, who was half-sitting, half-standing on the worn-out armchair. _He's always the content one, do you not think so?_, whispered a female voice in his head… which till now Sam can not, for the life of him, figure out. She's old and posh, that much he knows... and from Old England, perhaps?

_Samuel, if you think about it carefully… he's the one who doesn't get to feel. He's the one who has a fort around his heart, guarding him from all that plagues you... love, for example, as the weakest of emotions. He's the one by whom trouble passes, leaving him unaffected. He's the one who, due to _SOME_ sort of license, has a hundred percent permition to do with you as he pleases... to demonstrate to you how much stronger he is. Physically, Emotionally, and MENTALLY. This is the blood of yours that should never have been… who uses you, torments you, and then discards you._

_Every. _

_Single._

_Time._

By now, Sam was hovering at the neck of his brother, breathing irregularly, but trying to absorb back whatever exhalation which might give away to his presence in the room… _which need not be so hard, Samuel, because you are hardly noticed, let alone missed._ He blinked. Once, twice, thrice… huh!

He never noticed before, but Dean is NOT _really_ a total Chestnut, he actually has some brown in there… _and_, wait for it... a little _blond_. Funny… Dean is _not_ a pure Chestnut! Hah… finally, in less than two decades, one weakness was found! Alongside his DISGUSTING eating habits, too... the reason he is attracted to those Brunettes might have _more_ to do with his feeling of genetic inferiority, than their seductiveness.

_Samuel…how long? How many opportunities lay before him to trample upon you? How long a moment, or several, is he allowed to spend ridiculing you? How long, Samuel… is he given to emphasise to you, Each and Every Time, who the bigger, better, wiser Winchester really is? The one who _naturally_ takes after your father? And talking about Daddy Winchester… when is any one of them ever going to admit…?_

By now, Sam's breathing became incredibly laboured, and he found himself without control of how fast his skin trembles. He felt darker, sharper, and fiercer than ever before… and foreign, violent thoughts engulfed him. But it was at a cost, because he now has no control over his apparent invisibility. _You could never be completely bad…you always were…_ the nicer one, Sam finished the thought.

_The one who didn't fight, the one who contemplated, the one who felt. The one who COMPROMISED, time and time again_.

Compromise seems to have been invented for him, and, through childhood, the word even seems to have personified him.

"Uuh… Sam, there's another chair over here, dude, in case you're interested in sitting down," said Dean, turning his head at such an acute angle that it is now fast becoming an unhealthy idea.

"Not much to watch, I must say; Sylvia here doesn't know the first rule in fighting," he turned back to the TV. "And you'd think that actually _looking_ at who the hell you're beating up, would _help_ you in the process of beating them up…" Laughing harder now, he stood up and tried to head for the kitchen. "Now where can I find a?"

Dean found Sam's hands on his throat, barely merciful, and it _hurt_!

"Ok, Sam, I'll give you that… you got me, and I'm scared. Do I get to go now?" Dean tried to smile, he did (honest, he was thought to himself), and thank God, Sam let go.

For a millisecond.

He then rammed Dean's upper torso hard against the wall of living room. You know, the one which was so damn creaky that come Evil Super Demon or Babe, Dean always, always groaned at the noice that it belches out.

"Granted, you got more muscle power than me, is that ok? Jeez man, after all I ain't been drinking my milk for years," mumbled Dean, hopelessly trying to joke out of the situation.

"Even _here_, even NOW you get to crack a stinker on me! Every damn time, man! WHAT D'YA THINK... THAT I'M YOUR STUPID PRACTICE PUNCH BAG?" yelled Sam at Dean, who was bewildered and dazed at the rather icky puddle into which he is now falling.

"That I won't speak out against what you and Dad did? That I'd take it laying low every day, smiling and laughing, pretending nothing ever happened? Like what you did was small and easy... and couldn't POSSIBLY have any effect? To me, that's easy... I can forgive you for being an outright asshole, the biggest in the States." Dean shook his head slowly; _not this topic again_. "But to HER?" Sam was shaking roughly, and the last sentence came out with a quiver, and was a little too quite for Dean to pick up on immediately.

"… What _exactly_ was it that I was supposed to have done, Sam?" whispered Dean, looking around him as a double check… surely Sam is talking about, or, even better, _to_ some one else.

Dean's head hit the wall, and again, after he tried to resist Sam's hand,which was forcing his head (_and worse... my hair,_ thought Dean) into the wall. "DON'T... just Don't even TRY to lie anymore..." Sam hissed through his teeth, which were clattering violently.

He lost control of himself, thought Dean.

"Hmph… not any more, bro, not any more. Today… you don't get to joke on me any more. And today, _I_ have the upper hand, in everything, and especially control" As if Sam could read Dean's mind, Dean's eyebrows burrowed into each other quizzically.

Sam drew his face towards Dean, who's getting more and more perplexed and frightened of the situation… yes, actually _frightened_.

What the HELL is going on?

"Today…" Sam got ready to finish, "I am the one who gets to have the last laugh." He let go of Dean's head... and Dean used his eyes intensively, searching over the valleys of his brother's face, the face which he carried so protectively over the years. A face which now speaks nothing but rage and hatred.

Dean has found an answer...

From Sam's facial expression, alright, but it sure isn't his manically wide smile, or his crazy hair.

Which would, on a normal day, be incredibly CUTE; that silly word that all those silly girls get to use.

Not today, though. _Not Any More_… just like Sam said.

"Dude… seriously," Dean tried to soften the awkward situation more… having a totally black eye ball is never, _ever_, a good idea… trust me! A little white in there is _always_ good… and you got yourself a pair of _pitch-black_ eyes… hmph; that's tomorrow's party outta the window. By the way, could you maybe tell this… _whooshie voodoo thing_ inside you to get the hell out so we can go for a burger?" Dean waved his thumbs up in front of Sam's raging face.

_Now, Samuel, now. Now he should be a "was", a past memory, a forgotten entity. Hit him, Samuel, hit him with the anger from all the things he took away from you… your father's favouritism, your social isolation, your inward naivety; how you think everyone is NICE and you give them a chance…_

"What is it about you that girls are _attracted_ to?" yelled Sam at Dean, and with that, delivered a swift punch to Dean's lower abdomen.

The recipient groaned and staggered, his arms shielding his already injured stomach. "One moment bro; gotta get my breath…" Dean's voice trailed off. He stood up, "because… uhhuum… well, honestly speaking," Dean started to move his hands up and down his own body, gesturing himself. "Honestly speaking, Sammy, it's probably because they see something they like", and with that, he trailed off, sniggering.

"Liar, you always seduced 'em away… you were the _smooth talker_" Sam delivered a Leftie to Dean's face. "What they were attracted to, I don't know, but they certainly…," Hook, to the right eye, "enjoyed…," Left, to the bottom left of the chin, "their time…," Uppercut, to the nose, "WITH _YOU_!" finished Sam with a final blow to Dean's aching chest.

Dean coughed blood. But seeing as Sam wasn't done, he better get a plan, and fast. He can't do a sudden exorcism – no salt around him, and he certainly wasn't gonna shoot his brother with the Colt

_Samuel, remember Daddy's Soldier? Remember how Daddy Winchester tried to institutionalise you, and reform you, and clone you into a copy of Dean? Remember how he taught him to be a fighter, a caretaker, of you, a robot? Wasn't that what you were actually fighting against, and are fighting against now?_

"You were always daddy's favourite," mocked Sam, "his little _soldier_." Here, he broke into uncontrollable fits of laughter…. And another… and some more.

A window of opportunity Dean gladly took… to think. Right, so what did he know so far? Well, Sam is possessed…yes? Well he sure looks like it, though he ain't acting like it. Scratch that, what he really means is that Sam, good old little bro, still has that… feeling. Of being the sensitive, anxious and anguished Winchester, the one who does all the thinking. But if he still has his soul, then he can't be possessed…right? 'coz if Sam still has his soul… then it's no demon that is telling him to act like this… Sam is choosing to beat Dean out of his own accord.

"The reason I'm laughing is…," smirked Sam, "is 'coz the only time you're so damn good a fighter, dear bro, is when you've got a gun to hide your face behind…hehehe… ever notice that bro?" and Sam rocked his body back and forth in twists of rapturous laughter.

"Err… no that's not true," replies Dean, defensively, "'coz there are times when…". And finally, seeing as he now got Sam's attention, hit Sam hard across the forehead with a baseball bat. Sam fell to the floor, unconscious, "…when I gotta use my hands and I really don't wanna," whispered Dean, jokingly but with a lot of inner pain, confusion and turmoil.

_What has become of us?_ Dean thought as he turned around, away from the corpse that is his brother, which lay widespread on the ground, a testimony of Dean's actions.

But Dean sure wasn't paying attention himself when Sam's body began to rise, slowly… Well, Sam had to admit; Nike trainers are always a plus, quiet and thick, just how he likes his kicking helpers…

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**A/N:** _ok peeps, this is the first half of the two chaptered Dean and Sam adventure. It'll get hotter, I promise you… and Dean will find in himself the power to utter the three little words he was careful to avoid. You'll like it… if not then sue me! Please review… it'll only take you a few seconds!_


	2. OneShot part 2

One-shot (Part 2)

**One-shot (Part 2)**

Bang!

And there goes Dean, with his head, flying across the room. His head (again) and the opposite wall certainly exchanged greetings. _Ouch_, he thought; his brain was throbbing endlessly against the skin of his temples.

"Bet you liked hitting me, Dean… bet it felt all cool and natural to you. Oh wait a minute, what was it I said before you hit me?" Sam was closing in on Dean fast, and Dean really didn't like it. Feeling the threat, Dean was trying to cower back in defence rather than offence. "I said that you were always the best so long as you're fighting behind a machine…" hissed Sam, now kicking Dean, who wasn't fast enough in his escape, in the genitals.

Dean wailed in agony, forgetting his previously insane migraine for another, more torturous wound. Dean pleaded, "I'm sorry Sammy, really, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to… Augh! Sammy stop, please, dude this isn't right… Ugh! We shouldn't be beating up each other… Augh! WATCH it man! We gotta look out for each other since Dad ain't coming back!"

At this, Sam stopped, and for a moment, seemed to hesitate… Dean used the opportunity to run out to the back yard and hide behind a tree, since it sure ain't a good idea to stay in the house, and a worse one to face the outside world with mish-mashed sperm.

Sam stood there a little, contemplating on the phrase "Dad ain't coming back".

_Samuel, the Daddy he's talking about isn't worth all the confusion you're getting now… he was responsible for all the feelings. He was responsible for all the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the ugly visions. He was responsible for the void between you and Dean, he was responsible for your incapability of facing the outside world._

_He was responsible for you being introvert and private. He was responsible for you being just as you are right now: a walking broken heart, confused, pained and looking for a cure to start the healing process. But that's just it Sam – he "was"… and he isn't there any more. But you know that his death isn't enough; he and Dean both have to pay for what they did…_

Sam headed out to the back yard. He did make sure he had a knife in his hand, though – come one, some weapon is always necessary in interrogations. Especially when the interogat-ee, your brother, is a damn good fighter when _he_ has something in his hands. And you _know_ the back yard is full of things.

Dean hasn't quite gotten over the throbbing soreness which lies just above his knees and just below his waist. _Quick, look for something, he's heading here_… he thought. He grabbed a sharp, thick bark which lay on the ground below him. For the first time since his mother died, he started praying, _Oh God, if you're there, stop this_, and he continued glaring at the dark and heavy night-sky above him.

Sam was now in front of him…

"Auuugghh!" Dean howled in torment. There was now a large, and extending, gash in his right leg. Blood, enraged and infuriated, flew out of the gash in quick, heavy spurts. Sam twisted the knife ruthlessly in its resting place, and Dean growled out further.

"Oh look, the moon indeed doesn't lie – _you're_ blood is _purple_," smiled Sam as his voice sing-songed the phrase, "but I bet you feel real bad…and I bet you wish you could DIE"… Sam started sobbing heavily, but that didn't deter his hand from twisting the knife in Dean's leg.

"I'll sure drag you down with me…", hissed Dean back in livid shakiness.

"But why? Why did you and Dad do what you did? Why didn't you include me, why did you leave me out in the dark?" Fuelled by his anguish now, Sam dug the knife deeper, much to Dean's torture. "Why did she have to die?" Sam was sobbing uncontrollably, so much so that his words were rather incoherent… "Why wasn't _he_ there?"

"Dude… really, I don't know what you're talking about…" Dean appealed. Sam, getting an answer he wasn't looking for, wrenched the knife out suddenly.

"AUUUUGGGHHH!" Dean cried. "Alright… uhhhh… Ok." Seeing that Sam was ready to stab him again, Dean intensified his implorations, "is it Jesse? Is that who you're talking 'bout? Jessica, right?" Sam smirked a little, and then snorted, then laughed manically…. "Jessica, huh? So another person has to die 'coz of your foolishness… you and Dad both."

Ready to pierce his brother's flesh again, Sam raised the knife high so that it formed a silhouette against the moon's bright face. Whilst descending downward, Dean's sharp bark met Sam's arm halfway, and pushed the arm away slightly.

The tip of the bark met Sam's shirt and forced a large diagonal tear above Sam's chest, from the top centre-right to the bottom-left, the region where his heart was stored.

There, on top of the heart, lay a large pentagram symbol, burnt and charred against his white skin.

Sam, a little puzzled, stared at Dean, who in turn, was staring alarmingly at Sam's pentagram.

_Samuel, your brother is corrupt, and corrupt ones do not want to receive truth. They would rather hide it, cover it and mask it than unleash it. Because the truth pains them so. Samuel, you will protect your friend, won't you? Your epitome of truth? Envelop me so that your brother may not stare at me so, for I see hatred in his eyes._

"…are you _in_ me?" Sam shivered. "What are you _doing_ to me? What do you _want_ from me…?" Sam being to panic, and his shivering now became quite a serious seizure.

Dean dropped alongside Sam on the grassy ground, his blood carelessly spewing out. "Sigil of Baphomet," whispered Dean, "the symbol used by the Satanist Church… Sam, what have you gotten yourself into bro…? You're… possessed by a _devil_?" Dean was now crying wildly. "I don't even know how to kick that one out of you, it was never in the books…". He started fingering the symbol. "Sam… I'm gonna get it outta there, I swear to God, I WILL get it outta there if it means taking my life…"

Dean thought to himself a little… how the hell is he supposed to get a devil out of his brother's body? Demons are different things… so salt won't work.

Sam's seizures intensified, and he was talking to himself a little more… ok a _lot_ more. The symbol seemed to be shining in the moonlight.

"The bstrd is loving his time in there," cursed Dean, "leave him alone, you son of a bitch! Get outta there… does it even have the manners to reply back?".

Dean had an idea. Satan is evil… evil doesn't like holy water. But there's different types of holy water depending on the scriptures you recite into the holy water. If you use the New Testament from the Bible, that helps grandly with Vampires. If you use the Old Testament, that would help tackle Demons. What helps exorcise a Devil? He must use a different Scripture. It seems that the pattern is… the older the scripture, the older the enemies it destroys are… and devils are OLD! Which is good enough, because the next oldest thing in the house is a torn part of the old Jewish Torah.

Dean left the convulsing Sam and headed, in a limp, to the house. He came back with a few torn pages, and with great struggle, recited the words out loud.

In answer, Sam's convulsions became worse.

Dean rubbed his right hand in the wound, deep. _Ahhhh_, he thought, but never mind – blood was plentiful.

He massaged his bloody hand on top of the Sam's heart, where the pentagram lay. Sam was now having multiple fits and spasms. Frantically.

"_Leave him be_," a hoarse voice hissed out of Sam's lips, "_he's mine. You brought him nothing but pain and now I am freeing him… look!_"

Sam's voice returned immediately, "Mother, you idiot, it was mother I was talking about. Dad was happily watching the TV downstairs… why wasn't he with her? Did he think she could handle everything by herself? Could he not see a shadow passing over the house that night….?" He began to sob heavily, "well I was there. I watched mother's chest open, it's contents spill to the floor… I watched as her skin crawled away to reveal her flesh. I watched _him_ drag her to the ceiling and freeze her there… giving me the time to watch her lifeless eyes glaring at me…

And all this time where was he? He came right at the last minute, when she was already a shell, when she couldn't breathe or smile. Her blood dripped on me, you idiot! Where were you guys when my mother, MY MOTHER, was being ripped apart?"

Sam was wailing, "Where were you and Dad? She gave me _everything_, from life to love, from happiness to home… don't you _get_ it? I needed her, Dean… and I needed her and I needed her…" Sam was whispering in between his sobs,

"And I need her now… and I will need her tomorrow, and whenever after. One could sure do without a father when they're young, but one will always have a default if mother ain't there. I yearned for her the first time I walked, I yearned for her when all the parents took their kids from kindergarten, I yearned for her when the stupid school bully punched me, and I certainly longed for her presence beside me when Jesse died…" Sam was beside himself in tears and emotion.

Dean didn't perceive that long, smooth and cold tears were welling in his eyes and dropping greatly on the back of his bloody hand, on top of the pentagram.

"I needed her too bro… I _need_ her too…" he replied, unsure of the situation, never having experienced this before.

Sam's voice now changed to the Devil's, "_and he wants change, fast. He wants payback. He wants you and John to admit you felt it too, to admit it killed you and your father too… to admit he isn't the only one who feels_".

"Well, he ain't the only one…" recoiled Dean in resistance.

"_He wants to be free from emotion, free from guilt, free from responsibility and sensitivity_."

"You retarded bitch!" retorted Dean, "that's who he _is_, asshole, he can't and he _won't_ change it. He carries _all_ our hearts in his, he carries _all_ our feelings, and he carries _all_ our desires… he's _Sammy_, for God's sake! He's _meant_ to do that… that's what makes him a THOUSAND times more important and more special than _me_, you freak…" he screamed at the glowing pentagram, "it's Sammy… _my_ Sammy, my little _brother_…"

Dean began to rock back and forth in pain… all of this was the truth.

"Don't you think I wanted to have done something, Sam? Don't you think I felt pain too? Don't you think I had nightmares, and mostly couldn't even sleep? Sammy…" he replaced his hand on top of the Pentagram again, "I LOVE YOU, MAN! I _love_ you, you big softie… I love you", he left the last three words trailing off in a whimper…

A gasp, a rush of breath, an answered prayer…

The pentagram slowly dissolved into Sam's flesh, leaving behind a naturally white skin… and his obviously pink nipple.

Dean began to laugh in ecstasy, in delight, in elation…. He laughed uncontrollable and was rocking Sam back and forth…

"Wake up, small guy, and carry me home… after all I'm sure God made you taller for a reason…" he joked.

Sam scratched his chocolate, rich hair and got up from the ground. He looked up at the sky… dawn was around the corner. He looked down at Dean and regarded him for a few minutes…

"Dude, your leg is bleeding… and your face is a little blue…. And it looks like you have a serious problem on your head… and Oh, shit! Hehehe… you got a worse problem with your dick…" Sam chuckled, "it's all twisted and droopy… hehehe" Sam continued grinning, "Looks like you ain't gonna be leaving your little Deanies in any girl's panties for a _looooooooong_ time." Sam guffawed.

"Shut up and pick me up already, and carry me home, stupido" snapped Dean back…although he started laughing too after his anger withered away.

"_Did you think it was that simple_?" hissed the voice above them, "_did you think you would all get what you wanted _easily_ and I would be cast aside _equally_ easily_?"

"Leave us alone, you bitch!" Retorted Dean, holding onto his bleeding leg, "what the HELL do you want from us?"

"_Nothing from you, naturally, I assure you… however little Samuel here isn't staying with you long_." She started laughing hysterically, "_he has a meeting with my… what do you call it now… my boss_" she continued laughing…

"Errr… Dean, could you maybe explain to me what's going on?" asked Sam, puzzled.

"Sure thing, Sam, just later…" answered Dean, both of them trying to retreat back into the house.

"_See_? That's _exactly_ what I don't like… this thing here wants _me_ and _you_ decide conveniently that I don't need to get involved…" Sam was arguing, slightly, with a hint of pleading.

"_Fine_, Sam… have it your way" Dean muttered the last four, "devil-girl, here, possessed you and made you a little naughty. You smashed the house down a little and now she's outta you and she wants in again… that enough for ya?" Dean said it all in one breath, which wasn't exactly good since he was low on oxygen and blood already.

"Who do you work for?" screamed Sam at the blue sky, at something he couldn't quite see. He felt his pretend-game was rather unnecessary, "what does _he_ want from me?" he asked in defiance.

"_So you_ DO _know your highest bidder, Samuel" _she hissed back_, "my, my, now I know why they _ALL_ want a piece of you, Samuel. You have foresight without having visions, you have visions without need of translation, and you make translations without confusion…"_

"I'm flattered, for his sake, really," replied Dean, "but I really don't wanna waste ma time, so just kindly tell me how to kill or banish you, whatever, and I'll give you a doll or two of your own to possess…" he finished, smiling faintly. He wasn't able to continue. He felt his brain exploding out of his skull, though not literally, and his body swooning slightly…

Sam began to look around him, at the house, at the trees, at the shed… as though feeling her encircling him…

"_Of course, you will always end up going to the highest bidder…_" she hissed quietly in his ears, ignoring Dean's earlier comments, "_the-one-who-mustn't-be-mentioned…_" she joked, and laughed at her joke, "_the one who has_ always _been after you…_?"

"Hasn't he had enough already?" Yelled Sam, "what does he NEED from me?"

"_Oh, come on, stop lying, please_," she hissed back angrily, "_do not lie to me, Samuel… I am now beginning to understand why my like are going to Hell, which is primarily to do with lying, but honestly… I've been with you longer than you think…" _

She began_, "I have been the one who gave you those dreams, the ones from which you woke up sweating and gasping, the ones you made sure no one else saw except you…" _she continued, "_the ones you pretended never happened and you abandoned to the back of your head…_

_It's your destiny Samuel, you were chosen and were meant to be at his side, his companion, his partner… between you, you shall own the worlds, and between you, you will be kings and leaders…"_

"…I'm not going to meet him," Sam panicked, hesitating slightly, not denying that he had thought about it for a few seconds, "I am NOT going to meet him, and you can gladly go and tell him that!"

"_Not part of the deal, Samuel_," she answered, "_He said what you dreamed of, again and again. And in any case, I was to bring you to him fully at the mansion of_"

At this point, the Devil suddenly combusted internally into a whirlwind of flames. There were ear-piercing cries, at which Samuel covered his ears and fell on his knees to the ground. He shivered slightly, and then all was over.

Sam looked around for Dean, and saw him lying there on the perch of the house, his head rather drained of blood, pale and blue, resting on a large rock, and his right hand _trying_ to hold the blood into his leg. He has been bleeding unstoppably for more than six hours. There was a long blood trial from the central tree in the garden up to the house, and more still on Dean's clothes.

Sam took of his shirt and strapped it tightly around his brother's right leg.

At this, Dean awoke faintly with a moan, "Auuuuhh! Take it easy dude, it's not like I even feel the pain any more" he whispered sarcastically.

Sam, whipping off his tears, replied, "Did, did, uuhh, did… I do this to you?"

Dean looked at him and then his eyes rotated back, resting his head on the rock again. "Dean, talk to me boy, come on! Dean, Dean… DEAN!" Sam was shouting.

"Shut up, already, I'm here dude, not in Timbuktu" replied Dean in a hoarse whisper… "Now stop being a girl and take me to the hospital".

Whilst Sam carried him to the house to get dressed, Dean muttered, "at least that invisible _bitch_ is gone…"

However, Sam couldn't help neglect the feeling that someone had stopped her from speaking… or saying what she shouldn't have.

"Hey, Sammy," whispered Dean dimly, "stop thinking about it… it's gone… now we better face tomorrow with clear heads, ok?"

"Sure thing, Dean," replied Sam, with Dean still in his arms, "yeah… will do…. By the way when did you faint?"

"I DID NOT faint, silly," snapped Dean, "I did_ not_… don't want her lot hearing about it anyhow…"

And after Sam's persistent stare, "after she threw you praises, I guess… reckon what would _really_ kill me off is you being admired…" he joked, lightly ruffling Sam's hair with his left hand, letting his flaky blood, which solidified during the night, rest amongst Sam's hair.

"GOOD!" chuckle Sam… _thank God_ Dean didn't hear a thing of importance.

"Dude, you have some serious anger management problems…" grinned Dean, on their way to the hospital, letting Sam drive for one of the few countable-on-your-right-hand times in their entire lives, "all I wanted to do yesterday was to get coke from the fridge…" Both the brothers laughed.

A/N

_Don't forget to review!!_


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